


Bromance Over Romance

by sheepybaa



Series: The Right Person [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic Allosexual, Asexuality, Bromance, Epic Friendship, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheepybaa/pseuds/sheepybaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When it comes to telling the epic not-so-love story between him and Bones, Jim always likes to say that it was love at first vomit.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bones is a good friend, even if he is sometimes oblivious and emotionally constipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bromance Over Romance

When it comes to telling the epic not-so-love story between him and Bones, Jim always likes to say that it was love at first vomit. 

“I am a merciful and benevolent god,” Jim declares as he holds McCoy’s head up to keep him from drowning in the toilet, choosing to focus his eyes not on the garbling man half-sprawled on the bathroom floor, but rather on the tasteful landscape painting the transport bay chose for its family-style bathroom.  Looks kinda like Iowa, but with less corn and emotional repression. 

“Guh,” McCoy contributes, his hands twitching once where he’s sort-of-clutching the rim (Jim assumes he would be clutching it, if he had any kind of hand strength right now).  Jim had thoughtfully whipped the seat up before the good doctor had commenced emptying his stomach. 

With a few good pushes, some coaxing, and a whole lot of patience, Jim eventually gets the poor guy levered up against the sink in the corner, where a few splashes of cold water to the face and some gargling really do wonders.  Jim’s just in the process of eyeing his new buddy up when the man turns around, takes one look at Jim’s face, and says flatly, “No.”

Jim blinks.  He starts to open his mouth—

“No, man, _no_ ; dear god,” McCoy says, throwing his hands up in the air as he shoves past Jim to the hand dryer.  He raises his voice to be heard and continues, “Even if my mouth didn’t taste like vomit, I am flamingly heterosexual.  No way in hell.”

Huh.  You don’t see too many of those around anymore.  Jim pops the lock on the door and says as much.  McCoy snorts. 

“Yeah, well,” he mutters as they make their way across the concourse and towards Starfleet’s receiving area, the chatter of new cadets enveloping them, “We can’t all be pan.”

 

 

 

Two years later, Jim and McCoy are besties (“Goddammit, Jim, you are a _28-year-old man!_ ”), and things are going pretty well.  Jim doesn’t hate Starfleet.  He really, really doesn’t.  It’s unexpected, and it’s nice, considering he’s decided to do this for the rest of his conceivable life.  Exams are something he hasn’t dealt with since Berkeley, but they’re just as easy as he remembers.  He studies as much as he needs to to get the grades that he needs for his three year plan, and spends the rest of the time in and out of other cadets’ rooms.  Gaila is great for that sort of thing; she relieves her stress through sex, and it’s awesome. 

“Please control your Orion!” McCoy barks from the kitchen as Jim pulls on his pants the morning after finals have ended.  He limps out into the light (Gaila looks at him smugly over the rim of her mug, McCoy with open disgust) and sits gingerly on a barstool.  He takes a second to rub the sleep out of his eyes before turning to look blearily at Gaila, who is looking back at him a little too innocently. 

He blinks once, slowly.  He looks at her…outfit (maybe “ensemble” would be a better word for it).  He says, voice rough and cracking, “Gaila, don’t do this to him; you know his blood pressure can’t handle it.”

Gaila looks away like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about and covers her smirk by taking a sip of her coffee.  She’s wearing some new underwear that’s little more substantial than three or four strategically placed triangles of black lace linked by dental floss.  Jim approves, but he doesn’t _actually_ want Bones to die young.  Jim limps back to his room and leaves them to handle it, hearing them bicker in the kitchen for a few more minutes before Gaila (presumably) puts on her coat and heads back to her dorm. 

“You oughta just date her,” McCoy grumbles as he bustles around the kitchen, putting some dishes in the sink and loading others into the sonic dishwasher. “Save the whole campus’ asses.”  He’s still scowling even as he pours Jim a cup of coffee and slides it to him across the counter, Jim reaching out with a grateful noise and grabby hands.  “Why _ain’tcha_ dated her, anyway?”

“Differences in feelings make for unhealthy relationships,” Jim declares philosophically while scratching his shoulderblade.  McCoy grumbles something sarcastic and knowing that Jim doesn’t really listen to all that closely because he’s too busy sucking face with his coffee. 

 

 

 

Later, after they’ve washed their cereal bowls and Jim’s trying to decide what he wants to do with the rest of his day, McCoy adds, “She ain’t aromantic, is she?”

The second Jim’s processed that he bursts out laughing. 

Bones seems startled as Jim laughs hysterically into the counter, doubled over and clutching his ribs because he’s shaking so hard.  Jim can’t even. 

It takes him some time before he can gasp, “The irony,” he inhales violently, “the sheer _irony_ of what you just said is amazing.”

McCoy just stares back at him blankly. 

Jim laughs one more time before straightening and saying, “Bones.”  He spreads out his hands and gestures to himself.  “ _I’m_ the one who’s aromantic.”

McCoy’s jaw drops in shock.  “You—”

There’s a solid second where Jim thinks it’s not gonna be a big deal, but then McCoy’s face turns red and _that’s not good_ , and then he’s bursting out with “This is news to me!” and “How the goddamn hell could you not tell me this?!” and pacing around the room, hands gesturing wildly and definitely not looking at Jim.  Jim goes back around the counter and picks up an orange from the fruit bowl, peeling it slowly.  He waits until McCoy’s blustered himself out, until he slows down and stands there, panting, and pauses.  Jim’s best friend of two years turns and looks him in the eye, and looks—ashamed. 

“I’ve been a real jackass to you about that kinda thing.”

“Yes,” Jim agrees.  He splits his fully peeled orange in half, stripping off the little inner string thingies. “You seem to be having a moral crisis over it.”

McCoy pulls a hand over his face and won’t meet Jim’s eyes.  He grumbles and growls through his fingers for a moment before finally forcing out, “Well, I’ve sure given you a lotta shit over the years about—settling down, falling in love, dating, whatever—all that bullshit—and you sure as hell never said anything about being aromantic.”

Jim raises an eyebrow and peels another piece off his orange. 

“So, what,” he asks, picking a piece of white pulp off the wedge, “you gonna stop giving me shit now or something?”

McCoy’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.  “You kiddin’ me?” he says incredulously.  “You’re still an idiot.”

And, like an idiot: Jim grins. 

 

 

END


End file.
